Blood of the Bonnie Blue Flag
by TheEvilGeniusness
Summary: Bullets and roses, Scallywags and Gentlemen,rainstorms and fire. Scarlett's story continues, as the characters from Gone with the Wind reappear to shine again. Watch as they learn, grow,cry,and become great once more in a journey to be remembered.R&R plz
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 0**

As with all things, tomorrow came. Not the tomorrow of Scarlett's dreams, perhaps, where the loud chimes of the clocks died away to swarthy laughter rather than children's wails, but another day nonetheless. Outside, the sky shone a flawless blue and the birds sang softly, the day unususually warm in one of the coldest Octobers Atlanta had ever experienced. Old men, covered in rags with twitching gray beards, slunk back into their allies, squinting at the bright morning light. Cooks and maids ventured out onto the dirt roads on early morning errands, and up into the distance, that stout matron, Mrs. Merriweather, could be seen waddling toward her bakery. Her glare was especially strong today, most likely to mask her grief, and her gray eyes seemed to be receding into her very head.

"_There's a low green valley on the ol' Kentucky sho'"_

A lilting, high voice filled the air. Mrs. Merriweather turned around sharply, to see Prissy, stepping down the road with a little bucket. She was a common sight every morning, gone to fetch milk for Scarlett, usually skipping and moving up and down the road, distracted by every little thing. Today, however, her skips seemed subdued, and she stared mournfully at the ground while she sang.

"Good Morning, Prissy." Mrs. Merriweather nodded to her.

"G'mornin, ma'am." She said, stopping and staring off into the distance.

Mrs. Merriweather forced herself to ignore the vacant gaze, instead of snapping as usual. She cleared her throat.

"How's Scarlett this morning, Prissy?"

"No so good, ma'am, she's been up all night, and comes to me this morning and says 'go'n get the eggs, girl! Why u think you got no work this morn'? Seems to me she's all worked out 'bout Mist' Rhett leavin' again', right befo' she waked up!"

Mrs. Merriweather blinked, surprised. Rhett leaving? Again? She frowned, wondering if Mrs. Elsing knew anything more about this.

"I's better be goin', ma'am. Miz Scarlett'll have mah hide." She went off again in her slow, dawdling fashion.

"_There I's whiled many happy hours away, A' sittin and singin'"_

Inside the mansion on Peachtree Street, Scarlett Butler stood in the nursery, trying vainly to comfort the broken hearted Wade and sobbing Ella. The room was in chaos, toys dropped every which way, windows dusty and bedding piled up in large heaps. Scarlett stood in the middle of it all, staring at her wailing children with the bewilderment of a bad mother left to herself. She stood repeating any condolences she could think of, patting them awkwardly on the shoulder and cursing Rhett.

"Now, now, Ella, stop crying. It's all right, darling," she said, ruffling her hair, " it's all right. Aunt Melly's in a better place now."

Wade only sobbed more loudly, and Ella let up a shriek that caused Scarlett to grit her teeth. Outside, she could hear Prissy's high voice, finally home after an hour just to get the milk. Why was everyone so useless? She wondered, fed up with her life, and the children that never stopped crying.

"Wade, be a little man. Men don't cry!" she finally screamed. Wade heard her tone and stopped sobbing at once, though tears still rolled down his face. If he didn't listen to mother with that tone, he knew what screaming followed, and loud noises hurt his ears and scared him. Ella followed suit, still sniffling softly. Mother looked relieved.

"Now then," she said in a calmer voice, " Come downstairs and have your breakfast. Wade, bring your sister. There's a long day ahead of us."

Obediently, they trotted out of the nursery, heads down, looking so distraught Scarlett's eyes almost filled.

"No," she told herself, " I won't cry anymore." Why, she had spent all last night crying, and if she kept it up her eyes would be so swollen she wouldn't be able to see. Melly's funeral was to be today, and she had work to do, and fast, so that they could catch the train to Tara in the evening.

Poor children, she thought on her way downstairs, first Bonnie, then Aunt Melly, and God knew where Uncle Rhett would be today.

Scarlett felt a faint irritation as she took her place at the table. Just like Rhett, to leave without saying goodbye to the children, to leave her there to comfort them alone, arrange the funeral, and do everything herself!

But over eggs and bacon, Wade gave her an unexpected revelation.

"Uncle Rhett woke me up in the night," he mentioned casually. Scarlett dropped her fork on her plate.

"He said he was going away for a little while," he went on, oblivious to Scarlett, "but he said it wasn't 'cuz of me and he'd be back soon. "

"And he gave him a watch!" Ella piped up, "And he told me that- when he'd come back he'd get me a doll!".

"Wade, can I see your watch?"

Reluctantly, Wade reached into his pocket and pulled out a large, old fashioned watch with a gold cover. Plainly an antique, it was engraved with the initials JKB on the case, which Wade clasped with childish fingers. When Scarlett asked to hold it, her curiousity piqued, Wade shook his head and withdrew it from sight. Scarlett felt rather offended at his obvious distrust, but looking down at her untouched food, decided that she had earned it.

It annoyed her more than she cared to admit that Rhett hadn't given her any parting gift, or a promise of one. No goodbye, nothing but the reminder that he didn't care any longer. With a sharp stab, the loneliness she had experienced in the days after Bonnie's death played in her heart. She had alienated everyone, it seemed.

A sudden knock at the door interrupted her tortured thoughts, and Scarlett sprang up with surprise . She had had next to no company for the past few months, except for her Yankee bridge friends. For some reason, though, Scarlett was sure the present caller wasn't one of them. Sure enough, she saw Aunt Pittypat on the doorstep with a bewildered, harried look on her face.

"Scarlett, you have to come to Ashley's, He's- He's locked himself in his room with Melanie's body and he's saying-"

"I'm coming, Aunty!" Scarlett exclaimed, grabbing her cloak with one hand and beckoning to the children with the other. Ashley, Ashley. No matter where she went or what she did, somehow he was always her responsibility. And now- why- he would be on her hands for the rest of her life, because she had promised Melly.

When she arrived at the house, formerly so peaceful and full of joy, it was in deafening chaos. The cook was in a mess, mixing the batter with tears, and burning the porridge. Callers had filled the room to the bursting point, hours early for the funeral. Mrs. Meade, Elsing, and Whiting were all at the door of Ashley's room, shrowded in black and grim, but reasoning or yelling at the inmate of the room in turns.

"Ashley Wilkes! Get out here this very minute! Do you have no sense of propriety?"

Beau, little Beau, his treble laugh quenched by helpless sobs, held onto the doorknob, pleading with his father in hicoughing tones to come out. The dowagers took no notice of him, seemingly involved in their task.

Scarlett felt strong pity for the poor boy; his father was oblivious to him, shut up in his room with his own grief . In an instant, the happiness of his old life had been crushed into pieces, and Scarlett knew all too well what that felt like. Stepping forward to Beau, she dodged the matrons in black and detangled his fingers from the doorknob.

"Beau, honey, shush," she said, in an unusually soothing tone, "Come here. This isn't any place for you to be! There, there, darling. Your father will be out in a minute."

Beau took short, sobbing breaths, but looking at Scarlett, slowly stopped crying.

"It hurts," he declared, wiping his eyes.

"What does?" She frowned. Surely she wouldn't need to be a doctor as well, today!

"Inside." he said, pointing to his chest, "right here."

Scarlett's mouth dropped open for a minute, but then she smiled at him woefully. How well she knew that pain! The pain of sorrow, of still more tears waiting to fall even when her face was wet with them.

"It'll go away soon." she assured him, not all together truthfully. "You just stay strong, honey."

"How would you know?" He asked, looking at her suspiciously. "You've never felt it."

"I lost my mother too," she said quietly, remembering, for a moment, the scent and prescence of Ellen presiding over her life. She had thought the sorrow from her loss had gone, or at least, been shut up well enough not to bother her. But Melly's death had opened the wound once more. Ellen, laying in the red earth at Tara.

Beau stared up curiously at her, tears forgotten.

"Did you get over it, Aunt Scarlett?"

Scarlett nodded at him. Yes, she had gotten over it, she supposed. Remarkably well, too, she decided when she compared herself to Ashley, swamped by his sorrow.

"I'm going to get over it too!" he declared, clenching his little fists by his side.

Scarlett stared at him in utter surprise. Dimly,she remembered herself, facing the rising sun, the feel of her hands formed into fists, the warm earth under her feet.

_"As God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again."_

She looked at Beau with new eyes, his childish determination evident in his face, declaring that he would beat his sorrow. Surely he couldn't be Ashley's son, for all his blond curls and blue eyes. For where had Ashley, with his talk of honor and lack of hope, begot such a child? He had inherited some of the Wilkes' ideals, but in his eyes, she saw her ability to stand whatever life threw at her without failing. The same light, she knew, shone in her eyes, shone in her father's eyes.

When Scarlett had seen him before, Beau was just Beau. Just another child, thee in person, but insignificant in her mind. Now, Scarlett smiled at him softly, as she hadn't for any of her children but Bonnie, and leaned toward him. She felt drawn to him by some invisible force, the courage that they both shared.

"I hope you do, Beau," she whispered, " I hope you do."

"Dilcey!" she called, turning. In a minute, the slim maid was by her side. "Dilcey, please take Beau outside with Wade and Ella. I'll come in a minute to see the undertaker." Nodding, she led him away.

"Ashley Wilkes, you come out this instant! What would your wife think of you right now?"Mrs. Meade shrieked at the door, frustrated to her wits end at his lack of response. If the situation hadn't been so dire, Scarlett would have laughed to see the dignified old lady screaming in such a manner. As it was, she tapped Mrs. Meade on the shoulder.

"Ah, Scarlett," said Mrs. Meade, straightening her hat and staring at Scarlett with intense dislike written all over her face. Scarlett frowned. She had come here to help, and here they were, staring at her as if she was a low down, filthy Slatterly or- or Belle Watling.

"Aunt Pitty sent you?" questioned Mrs. Elsing, looking the least threatening of the three. "Good. Ashley's been calling for you. See if you can talk sense into him."

Mrs. Whiting snorted, as if the idea of Scarlett talking sense into anyone was laughable. She replied to Scarlett's frosty glare with an unrepentant thrust of the head. Huffing and puffing, she walked away, her black skirts swaying back and forth in response to her monstrous steps. Scarlett bit her lip and knocked on the door.

"Ashley! Ashley, it's me. Now open up."

The door opened a crack and Scarlett entered, knowing that Melanie's body was inside and half afraid of what she'd find. She was greeted by a red eyed Ashley and a mess of a room, clothes thrown on the floor, paintings askew, the only clean corner occupied by a cot. Melanie's body, Scarlett thought with a shiver, as she saw the white blanket drawn up over an eerily still figure.

"Scarlett-" Ashley said hoarsely, falling into her arms with such force that she almost fell over. His tears soaked the shoulder of her dress. Once, she thought, patting his head and murmuring comforting words, she would have been elated by his embrace. Now, she felt only sisterly. Was this what Rhett had meant when he said he felt nothing for her? But no, she brushed away the thought and concentrated on calming Ashley, she'd think of that later.

"Ashley," she told him, holding him up, "you have to stop this. Why, everyone's waiting downstairs."

"I don't want her to leave me-" he said, voice broken. "she was my world, I- I only ever had her to live for. I thought you'd understand, Scarlett, you knew her so well."

" I do understand that you don't want to leave her, and God knows I loved Melly" she floundered, "but-"

"But what?"

"What about your life? Beau? " questioned Scarlett, pity and irritation warring in her mind. Even in her darkest times, she had always found something to make her want to rise up again. Money, family, Tara, always something. She found Ashley's desperation bewildering.

He looked up at her with dead eyes, eyes that bespoke no emotion.

"Yes, there's Beau to live for," he agreed drably. Scarlett seized on to his words with relief, though they were without any real conviction.

"Beau! He was holding onto the doorknob when I came- didn't you hear him?"

"I didn't...I didn't want him to see me like I was-" he explained helplessly. Scarlett still didn't understand, for in her mind such shame was unimaginable. Ashley turned away from her.

"Scarlett, you don't know. You can't know- what it means to finally reach rock bottom. You're like the men in the war, you keep fighting and fighting, when in the end, there's nothing left to fight for."

"But Ashley-" she cried, at her wits end, " There's always something left to fight for! And anyways,you can't keep Melly here forever! Why, she wouldn't have wanted that!" He looked at her again, and she was encouraged. "She would have wanted you to let go. Melly wouldn't have wanted you to be like this."

"No," he agreed, a far off look in his blue eyes, as if he was remembering something from the past, a memory so dear every line of it was etched in his mind. "Melanie would have wanted me to be strong. She always had too high of an opinion of me." He looked at the cot, covering his face in his hands a second later, as if masking a pain that no one else could understand. Scarlett stood by helplessly, knowing she hadn't done anything to convince him to come out, to even lessen the grief one bit.

Was this what all men did, when they couldn't stand their pain? Rhett had also imprisoned Bonnie's corpse in his room, but he had gotten over it as well. Scarlett still had no knowledge of Melly's talk with Rhett, bewildered as she was by the funeral and the death.

"Ashley-" She started, but he turned to her with a sad smile.

"It's alright, Scarlett. You can't understand. Perhaps no one can, after all. Will you please explain to the ladies outside? That I want to tell Melly goodbye? Even though you can't understand what I'm going through, they'll listen to you. You're good at these things."

Ashley looked away, an infinite weariness in his eyes that Scarlett feared she had only worsened.

Casting a last, desperate look at him, Scarlett slipped out the old irritation returned, stronger than ever. Even in her best days she hadn't been much good at comforting. Her own grief could be dealt with, bottled up and placed in the room of her mind to be thought of later. But, unanalytical, she did not understand where the helplessness of her friends came from, and thus could only worsen the pain, not assauge it.

"Well?" asked Mrs. Meade, fixing her with a penetrating glance, "what does he say?"

"He only wants ten minutes alone," she snapped. "To say goodbye to Melly."

Abruptly, the old lady's eyes filled with tears. She looked away.

"Poor, poor Ashley," she said softly. Awkwardly, Scarlett patted her shoulder.

"If only Melly was here!" she thought desperately. Melly would know exactly what to say; what words would comfort everyone, give them hope for the future.

But as it turned out, Melly _was_ there, in spirit and in memory.

"Naw, miss," the undertaker shook his head, " Don't insult me by giving me money. Why, Miss Melanie was the kindest person I knew, and ma'am, I'm honored that I could do this much for her. " Here, his eyes filled with tears and he turned away from the stunned Scarlett.

It was the same with all she met that day. Every member of the Old Guard was there, dressed in their mourning clothes and with tear stained faces, being kind to Scarlett because they knew Melly had loved her. For this one day, even India Wilkes stifled her stiff-necked attitude and clasped Scarlett's hand briefly.

"It's a sad day, Scarlett," she whispered, " a sad day for all of us."

"I never would have thought," Mrs. Elsing croaked sadly, "That I would have outlived her. I! Who put her in her cradle when she was born. And her! Only twenty eight!" She buried her face in her husband's arm and wept openly.

Scarlett choked on the lump in her throat. Why did they even have these pre-funeral gatherings anyways? They never helped you overcome the pain, only hurt you.

A thousand condolences rung in Scarlett's ears. Her head ached from having to nod at all who came in the door, and her clothes were wet from other's tears. She was still receiving the multitude of guests with the flustered Aunt Pittypat when Ashley came up to her, exceedingly pale but composed.

"Scarlett," he said softly, "I want you to make one of the speeches when we go to the graveyard."

Scarlett looked up at him, wondering if he had lost his mind. Her to make a speech? The Old Guard was being generous today, but even they wouldn't stand for her being the favored speaker, not with her reputation as a Scallywag.

"Ashley, I can't do that! Why-"

"I think it's a fine idea."

Scarlett spun around to see Mrs. Elsing, who had followed Scarlett away from her husband. Her eyes opened wide, and inwardly, she wondered if the sky was falling. Why, Mrs. Elsing, till yesterday, wouldn't look her in the face without grimacing! Out of the Atlanta dowagers, she had hated Scarlett with the most passion.

But she had also loved Melly the most, she remembered, staring into her wrinkled face. Knowing Melly, Scarlett wouldn't have been surprised if she had extracted a promise from Mrs. Elsing to be kind to her. Oh, would her debts never end?

"Scarlett, Melanie loved you more than anything in the world," continued Ashley, "It only makes sense."

"But I haven't got a speech!" She floundered helplessly.

"You don't need anything prepared," he mumbled, "just say how you felt about her."

Scarlett glared at their retreating backs. To be roped into this! Oh, she wouldn't stand for it!

Half an hour later, Dr. Meade stood in front of the large crowd at the cemetery, goat like whiskers trembling as he talked.

"Women like Melanie Wilkes represented the very backbone of the South, the symbol for all we fought for, the pride of the soldiers and state. Though she may be gone, she will never depart from our memories, our hearts, and our minds! As long as the thoughts of Melanie are with us, we can stand whatever this cruel world throws at us."

Scarlett shook her head. How many speeches had the Doctor made? First, it was the Glorious Cause that could never die, that would keep the South going. Then, it was the women like Melly, and now the thoughts of women like Melly, even though they were dead. How long could he delude himself like this? The backbone of the South, in her opinion, had been very thoroughly crushed.

"- We can find kindness," he went on, "for even those who didn't deserve it, in her name. Till the end, she was strong, and selfless. She guided all of us in life, and by God's grace, we will take the lessons we have learned from her and grow stronger! From the sorrows of our loss, a greater, kinder people will be borne, always, always remembering, the dear Mrs. Wilkes." So saying, he wiped his brow and went to step down from the podium.

There was a murmuring of approval from the crowd, of the wholehearted patriotism his speeches always commanded. Dimly, Scarlett wondered how his hard speech could dull their tears, how still, after so many years, they could believe all his nonsense. Even in the days before the war, she had thought his speeches unconvincing and deluded, too full of patriotic nothings rather than common sense.

She did not have time to think much, for, oh, here came Ashley to bring her to the front, and she still had no idea what to say!

Gulping, she stood and walked to the front of the crowd by his side. For all her talk of not being roped into this scatterbrained scheme, Scarlett knew she owed Melly at least this much at her funeral.

All of Atlanta looked at her with tearstained faces, most accepting her, but some shocked that she would have the nerve to stand there in a fiercely patriotic gathering. From the crowd she saw others, among them India's friends, stand up and leave indignantly. Many stood still, perhaps not glad that she was talking, but willing to give her their attention out of respect from Melanie.

Melanie! Still sheltering her, still fighting for her, even from the grave.

"I...I know I don't need to tell you about Melly's kindness," she began, fumbling slowly, not quite sure what to say. Her eyes roamed around nervously. On the edge of the crowd, she saw a dim figure, hand held on his hat. Rhett! Scarlett could just imagine him, with the same dullness on his features as last night. Her chin went up and she continued with renewed determination.

"Melly wasn't related to me by blood, and she didn't have anything to bring up loyalty but my marriage to Charles. It should tell you more about her character than I could that she stuck by me, even-" her chin quivered. "even through the rumors. Maybe it was because of all we went through together, the seige, and the Yankees, and the long road up to Tara. When..when I found out Mother was dead and Pa was...deranged, she helped me even when she didn't have any strength. She couldn't get up from her bed after childbirth, but she helped me fight off a stray Yankee. That was my Melly." She was talking of things she had promised never to think of again, the old holes opening one by one. Still, Scarlett went on.

"Once the Yankees came, and set Tara on fire. Not the captain, but one of his soldiers, upset that the captain wouldn't let him take our Mexican war saber. And I...I was trying to put it out, but it caught on my dress. Then it was Melly who beat it out and saved me, saved Tara, saved our children. And yet-" She smiled sadly at Melly's body.

"And yet she let me think it was my courage that got us through that time. Like a little child, allowed to think she can win a race by herself when, really, it's her parents running slow on purpose. And she mocks them and ignores them, until she realizes, and then it's too late! Oh, Melly," here she forgot that there was any crowd, only seeing the body of her best friend, knowing that she hadn't thanked her, not enough, not ever.

"Melly, you should have told me!" she cried, " Or... or I should realized all you did for me! But you just kept helping me, and defending my mistakes when- when I wasn't worth it. And you never believed anything they said about me, and I just laughed at you!" Tears were streaming down her face now; everyone was staring at her. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"Thank you, Melly. I'll miss you," she whispered.

"We didn't treat her well enough. That's all." Scarlett stepped off to her seat, trying to push back the tears for later. Everyone in the front row was crying; Aunt Pittypat was sobbing childishly, Mrs. Merriweather furiously blinking her eyes. Even Dr. Meade had buried his face in his hands. In the very back of the crowd, she saw the dim figure turn and leave, placing his hat back on his head as he walked.

That was the last she saw of Rhett for a long while.

But now the funeral was ending, though the people still stood there, wiping their eyes and murmuring together. Turning, Scarlett caught a glimpse of Melanie's face, eyes shut, eerily peaceful in death, a small smile on her luminous face. Then, she turned and grabbed Beau, found Ashley, led them away softly.

"I don't want them to hear the screws closing," she told herself. But inside, she knew that if she heard the screws herself, the last wall would break down and she would fall to the ground, sobbing. She had to hold out till Tara.

Ashley was holding onto her hand as if it was a lifeline, and Beau was toddling along beside him, vainly trying to reach for his fathers arm through his tears. Poor, poor thing, she thought softly, offering him her hand when Ashley reached away. His father was plainly in no shape to take care of him, not as he should be. Not as he'd have to be, with his wife in the grave.

In the back of her mind, she remembered her promise to Melly.

_"You know I'll promise. I'll treat him like he was my own boy."_

Even then, at that moment, it hadn't seemed real, She hadn't believed she would have to make good on that promise, but she hadn't backed down from a challenge yet. Bending, she stared at Beau, his blue eyes level with her green. It was the least she could do for Melly, she thought, the only way to thank her, the only way to pay for the wrongs she had done to her own children.

"Beau, how would you like to go to Tara with me?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"All aboard!" The engineer cried from the front of the train, somewhat unnecessarily, for most of the passengers had been on the train for about thirty minutes. Men sat, staring out the window, or talking to each other furiously, their lighted cigars sending puffs of smoke into the air. Women rustled through their full handbags for food or beverages. Scarlett stared out the window moodily, green eyes flickering across the crowd of people gathered outside to see of their loved ones.

A tall man passed outside to the train, hat pulled in front of his face, and her heart beat wildly. Abruptly, she sat bolt upright to see the man as he entered the train.

Rhett! She thought immediately, Rhett!

But then the man turned around so Scarlett could see his bushy black beard and blue eyes, and she subsided, frowning- partly at the man, partly at herself.

"Don't be a fool, Scarlett," she told herself harshly, "he's left for Charleston, and he's not going to come back chasing after you." She looked up into the gaze of the black bearded man, still staring at her, a look of wonder on his face. Catching her eye, he looked away immediately, almost blushing. Blinking in astonishment, Scarlett suddenly smiled, flattered to know that she still presented quite a sight to men,despite what Rhett did or said.

"Aunt Scarlett?" Beau looked at her anxiously.

She shook her thoughts from their far-off places. "Yes, darling?" She leaned toward him anxiously.

"Can you tell us about Tara?"

"Tara?" She smiled, surprised but pleased. "What can I tell you about Tara?"

Unbidden, an image came into her mind, of Tara as it had been the evening before the barbecue. The red sun set slowly above the rolling, soft hills of white cotton that swayed back and forth in the breeze. At her feet was the land which had been freshly ploughed that morning, the pink, moist ground hiding the seeds that would be harvested in the fall by ready hands. Off the side of the porch, a swing undulated faintly in the breeze, the last man-made objects\ before the darkness of the pine forests. Slowly, faintly at first, a sound reached her drowsy ears. "Quitt'n Time! Quitt'n Time!" Soon, the darkies would come marching from the fields, their warm brown boots leaving footprints in the red, red earth below. The bloody earth, to which Scarlett was connected as the cotton was, earth which spawned not only their harvest, but also generations of-

"Slave-drivers!"

Scarlett jumped and looked around her. Wade leaned on the window, snoring, and Beau was stretched across two seats with his eyes closed. Ella stared at her sleepily and then closed her eyes. She had been talking, she realized, for God knew how long. The snide voice of the man intruded on her peaceful thoughts, droning on and on.

"Bloody bastards have control of the whole legislature. I tell you, Tom, an honest man can't work anymore since they kicked Bullock out. Stinkin' hypocrites-"

Tom, a hairy little wretch of a man, sat nodding morosely while his companion sniveled on, running his fingers through his black here. Noting Scarlett's gaze, he stopped and his face spread into an ugly sneer.

"Why, hello there, lil' lady."

Scarlett whipped back around and the two men hooted with nasally laughter. She gritted her teeth.

Carpetbaggers on the train! The red luggage bags that gave them their name were stacked next to their seats. But what on earth were they doing here?

Ever since the inauguration in March, a steady trickle of Carpetbaggers had been migrating to less democratic, more profitable parts of the United States, up north. It was apparent that these two had held on in Georgia until October, and now were bitterly moving in search of more work and more innocent Democrats to prey on. But why were they going to Jonesboro? If Scarlett had her way, she'd send them back on the first train available, more than 500 miles from Tara and the rest of the plantations.

"Honestly, who do they think they are?" he muttered behind her," the Federal Government was too easy on them, if you ask me. If I'd a'been old Abe Lincoln, I'd of taxed the while lot of them to death. Don't deserve to be called Americans. I tell you, Tom, we wasted all those good Union lives for nothin'. Should'a let them leave and taken over when their Southern ideals failed."

He was speaking loud enough to have aroused most of the passengers. A hot green light shone in Scarlett's eyes, and she determinedly looked around the train. Several old ladies were murmuring together angrily, but only in the eyes of the bearded man did Scarlett's gaze find anger greater than her own. He was looking at the man, thick eyebrows furrowed dangerously over his blue eyes, beard quivering. Scarlett frowned. Why, she wondered, did that gaze seem so familiar?

"Unless you'd like to die where you're standing," he muttered, voice gravelly, "I'd take back those words right this minute." A thick accent overlaid his words, but Scarlett thought she could hear a hint of higher education in his tone.

"Oh ho ho ho!" laughed Tom's companion, "I'd just like to see you lay one finger on us! We're United States citizens, damn it! Protected under the law!"

The man said nothing, just stood up and walked over to the two men. Scarlett watched him with interest. Tom slunk away from his gaze, the first one looked up at him with open loathing, loathing because he knew defeat was near.

"C'mon Tom," he grumbled, looking down at the ground. "Let's go somewhere these crazy coots can't bother us."

Tom obediently slunk off under the stranger's glare, carrying the tell-tale bags. Scarlett laughed softly at the glare on the little man's face. Hearing the sound, the stranger turned to her with a wide grin on his face. Scarlett froze. There was something familiar about that boyish grin, something that called to mind the clean Georgia air, the stench of horses, the easily stirred temper of a farmer. She had only seen that grin on two men before, one who, at this moment, was near Tara, and the other on a man who- but no, she shook her head, that was impossible. It couldn't be.

But as the stranger walked back to his seat with his characteristic limp, her suspicions transformed into certainty.

My God! It was Tony Fontaine!

The second the train screeched to a halt in Jonesboro, Tony ran off and disappeared among the crowd of people. Scarlett grabbed her bags and children and followed, curiosity nearly overcoming her, hoping he hadn't left the station already.

But, to her relief, he was standing outside at the entrance to a dingy alleyway; he must have known she'd recognized him. After all, for the latter half of the trip, she'd done nothing but stare at him shamelessly.

Tony was so thin, Scarlett thought, drinking him in with her eyes. Even thinner, perhaps, than after the war had ended. He seemed to be aging harshly; broad streaks of gray shone in his black hair and wrinkles had begun to show themselves. Why, he looked almost like Archie! Only with both eyes intact, Scarlett thought with relief.

When he saw her, his face relaxed into the boyish grin, taking ten years off his face.

"Morning, Scarlett," He called out to her, "I see you look the same as ever."

"Oh, Ton-" she paused, not wanting to use his real name without knowing the circumstances of his return. "How've you been?"

"I'm alive," he said shortly, then bent down to intersect the children.

"Hello Wade," he said gravely, shaking his hand. "Beau. And- who's this young lady?"

Ella grinned and hid behind her mother's skirt shyly.

"My! Scarlett, I never heard you'd had another child! In all my correspondence in Texas, they never mentioned it. Too taken with your three husbands, I suppose."

Scarlett blushed, but then wondered what correspondence he could have been getting. Alex surely wasn't writing- was he? Scarlett hadn't even thought he had known where his brother was.

"I'm mighty sorry about Frank," he went on, "And Melanie and Gerald. And Bonnie. My condolences have been long overdue, Scarlett, but better late than never, I suppose."

"It's quite all right, Tony." she said primly, "But, why on earth did you come back? Are you sure its safe?"

"Safe or not," he muttered, looking at the ground, "I owe it to my brother. Not many letters have reached me in Texas- but the ones I got told me plain and simple how much he wanted to be married, and how hard it was for him to work on the plantation. And besides, Reconstruction's over now, so I figured it was now or never."

Scarlett smiled. "Well, Alex will be more than happy to have you back," she accepted, "and I suppose, now that Bullock's gone, you'll be all right."

Tony guffawed. "You women, always worrying. It's a bit too late to consider the prudence of my decision, Scarlett, seeing as I'm already here. Don't worry your pretty little head about these things." He looked around, anxiously. "Well, I'd best be going. Give me a kiss; Rhett won't mind."

She obediently turned her face up, and he laughed after the quick peck.

"Last kiss when I leave and first when I get back. I am a lucky man, I suppose."

"You Fontaines are always lucky," she retorted, smiling at him, "You got away, didn't you?"

Scarlett always regarded it as tragic irony that, at that moment, the two Yankees from the train came barging down the sidewalk, hooting. It was obvious they had seen the kiss. They stumbled along, laughing, toward their direction. Tony's face, Scarlett noted nervously, seemed like a thundercloud, about to burst into storm.

"Tony Fontaine, eh?" said the first one, smiling, obviously drunk at 3 o'clock in the afternoon, "I've heard that name before, somewhere. What say you, Tom?"

Tom laughed, hiccuping.

"Now you, Mister Tony," the man poked him in the chest, greasy fingernails burrowing into Tony's clean shirt, "you apologize for intimidatin' us on the train, or I'll just walk myself over to the law 'nforcement office 'cross the street and spill your name."

"I'd like to-" Tony's face turned to an ugly blotch of purple, and he grabbed the small man by his shirt and shook him back and forth, " You listen here, bastard! I've got a knife in my pocket and I-"

Scarlett could just imagine Tony stabbing the man in the chest, then and there, in the broad street and getting carried off by the Yankee officers. And then poor Alex-

"Tony!" She screamed, "Tony! Stop! Now!"

The man's face was turning purple from the pressure on his throat.

"Tony! Think! Alex!"

Tony looked at her with the eyes of a madman, and for one second, Scarlett feared for her own safety. Ella started crying loudly, and Wade was cowering against the wall. The crowd of people in front of them just passed on, like sheep. In the distance, Scarlett could see a Yankee officer coming towards them.

"Tony, please!"

Slowly, inch by inch, Tony released the man and swore at the top of his lungs. "Cowards! Get the hell out of here unless you want me to shred you to bits!"

The man stumbled, half crawled off, and Tom ran behind him. Slowly, a look of pure hatred spread across the Carpetbagger's face, and Scarlett knew it wouldn't be the last they would see of him. Knew it with a certainty that sat like a rock in her belly, making her gasp with fear.

Tony turned to her, breathing heavily, and she patted his back awkwardly, wanting nothing more to do with him.

"Go home, Tony," she whispered, tears in her eyes, "Go on now."

He gave her one last nod, turned, and dissolved in the crowd on the sidewalk. Scarlett was left alone, with three wailing children, a heavy luggage bag, and an even heavier sinking in her heart.

Why, she wondered, did the Yankees have to spoil everything? Even her reunion with an old childhood friend had been marred by their dirty stink.

"Scarlett!" came a call from clear across the crowd, "Scarlett!"

She cast her gaze anxiously around the square, holding Ella by the hand. Will Benteen was waving at her, whip in hand, horses whinnying.

"Where were you?" he asked, after he had woven through the people to her,"I've been waitin' here for quite a while."

Vacantly, she settled her bags in the back and sat up front. Mercifully, Will was silent until they were out of the town, simply urging the horses with his calm, placid expression.

Good Old, Will, Scarlett thought. He always knew when there was something wrong with her. Will and Rhett, the only two men who had ever understood her.

She came out with it on her own in the countryside.

"Tony Fontaine's back." She stared curiously at him, wondering how he'd take it. She wasn't quite sure what to make of it, herself.

"Really?" was all he said, but his mouth twisted down and Scarlett could tell he was worried.

Worried, Scarlett knew, for what this might mean for his family, and of course, Tara. Suppose the Yankees found out? What would they do? Her heart constricted nervously at the thought of the two ugly men on the train.

Will turned to her, and Scarlett could see him putting away unpleasant worries of Tony Fontaine for now, about to mention matters much closer to Scarlett's heart.

She jumped up so suddenly that she almost tumbled out of the buggy, and her hoops rose up at a dangerous angle. She fell back with a little shriek. The horses neighed violently and reared up, screaming protest and almost breaking away from the cart altogether. As the world spun around her, Scarlett heard a scream, a scream that was abruptly lost as the wagon swung off the road, tilted dangerously to one side.

"Mother! Mother!" Wade screamed, and Beau clutched the wood of the seat with a pale face.

"Will!" Scarlett yelled, as he frantically whipped the horses. They continued to rise in the air, and he pulled the reigns back with such force that the horse whinnied in pain, and was quiet. Scarlett knew she was in for it then. Will hated whipping the horses, hated whipping them as much as he would have hated whipping his own children.

At the end of it, he went to the front of the cart, without looking at her, and stiffly stroked the hurt horse's head. Deliberately, he came back, and put his hat upon his head. Scarlett cringed away from him; the disappointment in his eyes was more than she could bear.

"What on earth were you thinking, Scarlett?" He didn't yell the admonition; Will was never angry, but he was exasperated with her.

"You could have killed all of us right now!"He made a strangled sound and shook his head, evidently too overcome to say any more. Scarlett looked away at the countryside, blinking furiously. Even Will was tired of her and her idiotic rashness. Like a small child, she started to sniff, unable to stop the tears that leaked from her eyes and blotched her face.

Oh, what a mess she was!

But, as always, anger came to overcome sadness. Soon, she was glaring at Will's back as he managed the horses with extra care. She continued to scowl as he stopped in the middle of the deserted road and turned to her, folding his arms with the air of one preparing for a long talk.

"What's wrong, honey? Why are you carrying on like this?" he asked, so softly that tears started leaking again.

"I'm not...carrying on," she said indignantly. "it's just-just the dust. In my eye." It was probably the worst lie she had ever told and Will didn't believe a word of it, just sat there and ignored it like a gentleman.

"Is it Rhett? Or Miss Melly passing?"

There was a long, maddening silence.

"Rhett!" she cried suddenly. "It's Rhett! Oh, Will, he's left me and gone to Charleston and- and he says he doesn't-he doesn't want me back and he doesn't give a damn about me! And, oh, Will, I came here to think about what to do, but I haven't the faintest idea and he's...he's so cruel to just leave me like a-" By now, she was screaming her thoughts to the countryside, but she didn't care. Even their cows had stopped their grazing to stare at her, but God damn it! She didn't care!

"Scarlett!" Will cried, grabbing her shaking arms. "Stop! Stop! I understand!" He put her arm around her shoulders and, slowly, her violent sobbing ceased and her head cleared. When she opened her eyes again, the world seemed brighter, and it seemed as if some of the load had been lifted off her shoulders. Unknown to her, the hard shell around her heart had started to crack, crack with the abrupt rush of pure feeling she had felt over the last two days, and the former, innocent Scarlett, bottled up inside her, was starting to peek through the cracks. She never got very far, though, when the new Scarlett bottled her up again with the abrupt rush of jealously or anger, but she was there, and starting to make herself known.

Will, seeing her apparent return back to rationality, smiled and started the buggy again, They spoke no more about Rhett or her problems, and Scarlett was glad of it. She had not even been fully coherent when she had told him the story, a few minutes ago, but Will had sensed the essence, and understood. The understanding alone was, for her, enough.

"Suellen and I have five children now, Scarlett." He shook his head. "Five children! Who would have thought? With all the work around Tara, I can barely keep their names straight." Will held his fingers out.

"Mary Kate, Susan, Gerald, Will Jr., and Victoria. Whew."

Scarlett smiled at him, and Will grinned back.

"Will," she said suddenly, "You really are like a brother to me, you know that?"

Will shook his head ruefully as he drove up the driveway.

"Scarlett," he said, "if all sisters are as much as a handful as you, I'm sure glad I never had any." Scarlett started to glare at him, but changed her mind and smiled instead.

If Will was a comfort to Scarlett, Suellen went out of her way to make her sister's life as miserable as possible.

As soon as Will pulled the buggy in, there she was at the front door, hoops swinging and ears perked up. Her complexion had turned sour and twisted over time, and her red hair, primmed up to make her look rich, only heightened the effect.

Poor Suellen, Scarlett thought maliciously. All that jealousy was bound to show itself somewhere. Ellen had always told her so.

By this logic, Scarlett's face would have soon turned as green as the money she coveted, but she didn't think of that.

To be fair, however, Suellen did not deserve much sympathy. She kept making wry little comments until Scarlett was ready to box her around the ears.

"What, Mr. Butler not here?" she asked, feigning surprise, "not with his darling wife?"

Scarlett's face turned crimson, but she managed to choke out that he had gone to Charleston, on business.

"Oh, I see." Suellen winked at her, and Scarlett scowled even more. She had just made her way up the stairs when Suellen called to her from down below.

"You never know, Sister. Now perhaps you'll find out how it feels when a pretty girl steals your husband away."

Scarlett began to fly down the stairs, but Suellen ran away, screeching in delight.

Oh, that-that witch, Scarlett thought, slamming shut the door to her room. She hoped Will strangled her someday. She could just kill someone, or, or throw something at the wall! Yes, that's how angry she was right now.

She looked around, but there wasn't even a decent piece of Suellen's crockery to smash. Gritting her teeth, she let out a scream so loud the ghosts could hear it.

There, she thought, angry but satisfied. That would let everyone in the county know that Scarlett O'Hara was back, and God help any woman or man who came in her way!


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner that night was a maddening affair. Somehow, Will had heard about Suellen's comments- he had been hitching up the stories earlier- and scolded her about it in his gentle manner. Suellen now passed the peas down the table in silence, looking up every so often over her pork to glare at Scarlett. She didn't say one word the whole time.

As such, it was Will who had to keep the conversation going. Will being a man of few words, Scarlett spend the time shoving food into her mouth and trying to finish as quickly as possible. Beau and the 5 children kept up a merry conversation of their own, Scarlett noted. At least some people were enjoying themselves.

Scarlett hadn't seen Mammy, yet, though. She had spent the majority of time in her room, and Mammy was getting too old to climb up and down over and over. But when Scarlett went up to go to bed, there she was!

"G'night, lamb," she grumbled, shifting her weight from leg to leg, blurred eyes looking almost anxiously at the child she had helped to rear.

Mammy! Suddenly realizing how much she'd missed her, Scarlett ran down the stairs and threw her arms around the old woman, resting her head on Mammy's ample busom. For a moment, she felt like a little girl again, one that had been mischievous but, absolved of her crime, united with her parent again. Mammy patted her head and stroked her head in the old manner, but Scarlett could tell that something had changed.

When she looked up into Mammy's blurred eyes, she found the answer; in their brown depths was love, as always, but also a question.

"What've you done, chile?" her eyes seemed to be asking.

Scarlett felt a sinking in her heart; she didn't know.

When Scarlett woke up the next morning, Suellen ran through the door, bursting with excitement.

"Oh, what now?" Scarlett wondered, irritably.

"Get up, there's going to be a wedding!"

"Alex Fontaine and Diminity Munroe are going to be married. Didn't you know? She's only had his eyes on her for the last century."

Suellen frowned at her.

"Oh, never mind that! There's going to be folks from all over the county, and Savannah and Atlanta, and, oh, Scarlett, its going to be today!"

"Today?" Scarlett wondered, "How-"

"Alex came himself, last night, to invite us! After you went to bed!"

Scarlett puzzled. It must have been announced much earlier, but Will and Suellen had only lately been placed on the guest list. Knowing how much Alex hated Suellen, she wasn't surprised. Tony had probably asked him to invite them, knowing Scarlett had returned home. She was flattering herself mercilessly, she knew, but it made her happy to do so.

Suellen must have been fairly starved of society these past few months; the was hopping around like a rabbit, Scarlett thought, half laughing.

"Whatever am I going to wear?" The news seemed to have changed her whole disposition. For the first time in many years, she had forgotten about Frank Kennedy. It was a good thing too, Scarlett thought with approval, Will was worth a hundred of the old coot.

But now she turned her mind to more pressing matters. Heavens, what was _she _going to wear?

She flew over to her suitcase, but when she opened it and saw the clothes inside, her face fell in a becoming pout.

Everything was black! Why, she had been in mourning for Melly, and before that for Bonnie, for so long that she had stopped looking in the mirror every morning. She frowned as she recalled how she looked in black. Puffy. Elderly. Like a crow.

But why did it matter anyways? Rhett wouldn't be there to see her, and neither would anyone else. She blinked, astonished at herself. It was the first time she had said or acknowledged, ever, that her appearance didn't matter. No, she wasn't herself, at all.

Suellen came to peer over her shoulder, and, noting the black taffeta, clicked in disapproval.

"Scarlett! You can't wear that! Why, Alex asked ups not to wear black! It is a wedding, after all."

She threw open the door and walked away. Scarlett glared at her receding back. No black indeed! Then what was she supposed to do?

Later that morning, Scarlett sat, arms folded, in an old green calico of Suellen's. It looked ugly on her waist, but it was the only thing that even remotely matched her complexion.

She sighed. It was a beautiful morning, she noticed, with the sun dappling the still-green hilltops and making the red road in front of them glow gently. Overhead, in the green foliage, birds whistled softly to each other. Although October was almost over, the area around them resembled more summer than late fall.

Even the dark pines seemed less brooding today, trying to make up for the dark houses around them. Even the loud birds and sunshine couldn't dispel the dark gloom of the Twelve Oakes ruin, a mass of black and gray ashes, a memory. Seeing it, Scarlett felt a strange chill pass though her body, a desire to tear off through the grass until she reached it. Shuddering, she suppressed the strange urge and forced herself to listen to Suellen's meaningless prattle.

Up ahead stood Minimosa, its stucco exterior still standing strong. Sally and Young Miss were standing outside to welcome the guests. The years, Scarlett reflected, had done nothing to wipe the bitterness of their faces.

Inside sat Old Grandma Fontaine, with still the same look as she had worn so many years before, upon Gerald's death. She would never grow any older, Scarlett thought, only go to bed one night and not rise again.

"Come here then, Miss," she called, in her usual stern voice. Scarlett crept forward, as ordered, and knelt down to meet her sharp eyes.

"So you're back in town? And how long are you planning to stay this time?"

Scarlett started to mumble something about a few weeks, but Grandma softly squeezed her hand and cut her off.

"Stay after," she commanded softly. "I want to talk with you in private for a few moments."

Scarlett was filled with ominous worries, but she merely nodded and went forward to greet Alex and Diminity.

Diminity had undergone a transformation. Her eyes glowed and her cheeks glowed faintly, taking years off her face. Her white dress, though clearly old, only served to emphasize her pure beauty.

Alex seemed to be bursting with pride. He kissed Scarlett on the cheek distractedly, and his eyes followed his bride wherever she went. Scarlett didn't mind too much; after all, Alex had never been one of her box

They had called a priest from Atlanta, and as the guests came together, afterwards, in the parlor, there were more than a few teary eyes. The "people from Savannah" that Suellen had seemed so excited for were just Munroe and Fontaine relatives, uptight, gentlemen and ladies all. Scarlett didn't pay too much attention to them. Her eyes were too busy following Tony Fontaine as he made his way through the ranks, clapping men on the back, kissing ladies. Grandma Fontaine's eyes did the same, a strange look in their blue depths. Yes, Scarlett thought, Grandma Fontaine was worried just like will. Tony had always been too rash.

Grandma Fontaine beckoned to Scarlett. Scarlett looked wistfully towards the dance floor, but followed the old lady outside.

Scarlett shivered in her thin dress. Old Miss settled herself across from Scarlett, watching her closely.

"Scarlett, what've you been doing lately? I know we don't get much news down at Minimosa, but even we've heard of your strained marriage." Old Miss glared at her. "You're not still mooning over Ashley Wilkes, are you?"

Scarlett's eyes went wide. Old Miss laughed.

"She thought I didn't know! You do realize, Scarlett, that you're as bad as Gerald was at keeping secrets."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't lie to me, Miss! I've known since the barbecue at Twelve Oakes."

"I don't feel anything for Ashley!" cried Scarlett, truthfully now. "Maybe he's not like a brother, but, why, how could I feel anything else for him now but pity? Especially since-" she stopped, not wanting to give away any more of her personal problems. Grandma Fontaine just stared at her, then sat back with a sigh of regret.

"So Rhett's left you, eh?"

Scarlett's heart nearly dropped out of her chest.

"So the whole county's been gossiping about me behind my back, have they? Well, they can-"

"My foot they have," Grandma Fontaine snorted. "But tell me, Scarlett, why? The man loved you, it was obvious. Well, its better you learned to love him later than never, I suppose. But what ended it?"

Scarlett raised her eyebrows at the old lady. She felt like she'd had a similar chat with Old Miss just after Ellen's death, and she felt the same incapability of concealing her emotions as she had then. Old Miss only listened as Scarlett babbled on, frowning out into the Star studded Georgia night above. Sh didn't look at Scarlett once, not until the story was finished.

Will finally burst in on their silence, in his calm, courteous manner.

"Evenin', Grandma Fontaine," he said, dipping his hat. "Scarlett, me'n Suellen are hitchin' up to go, soon as you're ready. " He retreated quietly, and Grandma finally turned around.

"Will's a good man, Scarlett. He understands things you and I never could. Take Careen, for instance. Will understood that it was better for her to let her go, could love her without that selfishness. Really loved her."

Scarlett frowned at this seemingly random statement, but then everything clicked and she spluttered with rage.

"Are you suggesting that I let Rhett go? Love and giving up? The two things don't go together!"

For Scarlett, who know nothing of selfishness, love meant you fought for someone, tooth and nail, to protect them. To her blessedly clear mind, it had never occurred to her to sacrifice her own happiness for another; that seemed like sheer poppycock to her. And as for Grandma Fontaine- Scarlett thought the old lady should be paying more attention to her own prospects in the afterlife, rather than meddling in her business.

Old miss shook her head.

"Well, if you had accepted it Scarlett, it would have been too good to be true. So, what do you propose to do?" She asked suddenly.

Scarlett felt secretly relieved at the return to sanity.

"Why, I'll go to Charleston, of course, to get him back." She had been planning to do that all along, but for some reason she had a strange feeling that she shouldn't, that something would go wrong if she went there.

Old Miss nodded. "In three weeks?"

"three weeks?" Scarlett blinked with surprise. She never planned to instate such a definite time limit.

"If you don't go then, you never will."

Scarlett heard the words, and accepted them with a sinking feeling. Three weeks. Any later and she'd scare herself out of it. She read in Old Miss's face grim understanding, as she went to find Will.

She had thought that with a definite deadline she'd feel more at ease, but as they drove home, Scarlett felt her throat constricting tighter and tighter, until she could hardly breathe. Her stays were choking the remaining breath out of her, and her head swam with dizziness and an overwhelming dread- dread lest she should find Rhett completely unchanged, the sad, sodden man forever. The look in his eyes when he last saw her was taken up by the midnight black sky, a look that even the red earth of Tara didn't assuage fully.

Blindly, she stumbled into the house, still choking, an unlaced her stays in the comforting darkness of her room. The black spots that had developed in her vision began to clear, and she felt more than a little annoyed at herself.

Fiddle dee dee! What was Rhett? A man after all, and she had played men before like she played the piano.

And if she could get him to fall for her once, so help her, she could do it again!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

The air hung thick and humid over Charleston, thick and humid as Rhett Butler's head felt as he stared across the marsh with a glass of blackberry wine in his hand.

"Reckon if we had won Gettysburg, the war would of turn'd a different way," Randall Hayes drawled at his side, grizzled gray head sagging and eyes bitter.

Rhett suppressed a snort of annoyance. The patched cabin roof above his head seemed ready to cave in at any minute, and he could feel the mosquitoes biting deep into his flesh.

Randall had been his Mother's friend when they were young, and had gone into the Civil War a stout old man of fifty. Now, at sixty-two, any of the blooming strength he had possessed in his youth had vanished with the plantation and the Bonnie Blue Flag. Rhett cursed himself for being a fool, rushing over here to see him as soon as humanly possible. But Randall had been the most antique thing he could think of; Rhett remembered him as the epitomy of the rich hunter class. Now, he was bitterly wondering if the visit was worth it. His mother had visited Randall once after the war, and though not overly critical, had never gone again. Rhett wished he had remembered that fact before he rushed over three hours ago.

As he looked around at the moth bitten clothes, the breaking chairs and blackberry wine in jelly jars, Rhett felt a sense of disillusionment, disappointment. He had come searching for one of the stout men of his youth, and instead found a crushed emperor, sitting on the remains of his kingdom.

It did not occur to him that he, too, was likewise crushed most of the time, that he lay in his bed, searching for something that had died with Melanie and Bonnie. He blamed the world for lacking in excitement; it did not occur to him that perhaps the hole was in himself, dug by him alone. All that occurred to him was disappointment, and a shadowy knowledge that his quest was useless, that the old customs of the South were as dead as the soldiers of Gettysburg.

That knowledge made him take his leave of Randall early, and ride his horse home as if something was chasing him.

When Bonnie died, something inside him had died as well, and he attributed it as his capacity to love, to feel. And yet- this troubled him- that night when he had left Scarlett, he had felt anger at first, no different from when he had loved her with a passion that ached. How could that be? Rhett shook his head as he rode past the old stately homes.

Scarlett. The word never failed to unearth a host of emotions. Anger, of course, but something else too- a curiosity that plagued him mostly at night. Had she taken his leaving well? He wondered, or had this last finally quenched the sparkle in her eyes? He knew the quenching of the sparkle would be the end of her, and he felt a certain, deep dread at the thought. End. He had lost too much lately. Too many ends. But if he stayed with Scarlett, he'd lose more.

Besides, she wasn't really _Scarlett _ anymore, he thought. Or at least, she hadn't been before Melly died. She hadn't been the childish Scarlett, whose evil side had been no more than a mischievous streak, who had been moldable, like clay. She had since been hardened by the war, burnt into a horrid shape, that Rhett was powerless to change. That he didn't care for. Oh, he hadn't been lying to her that night. He didn't care.

His house came into view at the end of the street, with its collumns and whitewashing. His eyes sought the door, but alighted on a figure, shadowed by the setting sun. The dim, red dusk made it difficult to see, and he squinted tersely.

With a light step, he alighted near the gravel driveway and strode briskly toward the house. The figure turned to him, and Rhett frowned quizzically, then half chuckled.

Who else could it have been?

Scarlett stared at Rhett, her eyes traveling hungrily over his face, worn but not defeated, and the features she knew so well. Rhett gave her his usual unclothing glance, but his eyes lingered on her face a moment more than usual.

The sun shone off his tanned frame, making him glow softly, and his white shirt stand out even more. The aura of a panther was still there, although his face looked tired. Scarlett felt a momentary surge of pride that he was her husband, but then paled at the thought that he hated her now.

"Well, he certainly looks better than the last time," thought Scarlett, "but then again, the last time I saw him-" She winced and didn't finish the thought.

"Scarlett?" he whispered, voice rough, and she felt her heart soar.

Oh, Rhett did love her! He had missed her, cared about her just as much as she did about him. He knew now that it was all just a misunderstanding, and she couldn't possibly love anyone but him. Scarlett fluttered her eyelashes at him, knowing fully well they made her seem demure, and waited breathlessly for his next words, a kiss, _something._

"My dear Mrs. Butler," he began in his queerly mocking tone, and Scarlett felt the ship of her illusions crash. "What a surprise to see you here, and looking so lovely too! But rather pale, no? This time, it must be a rouge shortage!" He pinched her cheek, and Scarlett fought back the urge to slap his hand away. And the urge to press it to her lips.

So he would bait her now, try to make her seem like a terrible wife. He would remind her of the horrible times past, instead of letting her make up for them or accepting her apology. Rascal, scoundrel, but she knew all that already.

"What a fool you are, Scarlett O'Hara," she thought to herself, "to even hope that he would give in that easily!" She felt her anger rising again, and Rhett gave her a crooked smile. Restraining her emotions, She smiled back , and he laughed out loud, a harsh barking sound that stung her ears.

"My dear," he whispered, "haven't I told you how unbecoming you look when you hold back hard words?" And with that, he unlocked the front door, swinging his cane and whistling.

"Rosemary!" Rhett called," Rosemary! We have a visitor!"

A raven-haired girl came flying down the stairs, with the same grace as her brother, but a marginally less threatening face.

"Scarlett?" she gasped, "How long had you been waiting outside?"

"Um," replied Scarlett absently, one eye on the door in case Rhett tried to leave, "just a little while, I believe."

Rosemary turned to a small, curtsying housemaid.

"Betsy," Rosemary chided, " didn't you hear a knock? Well, it's a pleasure to have you here, Scarlett, but, did you send any word? A letter, or a telegram?"

It was plain to any onlooker that she was trying her best to be well mannered, while battling with the problems an unexpected guest provided in hard times. To Scarlett, however, it seemed like Rosemary was trying to annoy her by asking unnecessary questions, distracting her with mere trifles.

"I sent a letter," she snapped, "by the express post, too."

"Miss Rosemary! Letter for you!" came a call from the front door. "Seems important!"

"I guess the express post wasn't very-express," muttered Rosemary, hurrying to the door.

Scarlett crossed over to the kitchen, where Rhett was unconcernedly eating, and tried to summon her thoughts. Her carefully constructed plan had been thrown out the window, she realized bitterly. But then, since when had any of her plans worked with Rhett?

"Oh, Rosemary," replied Rhett, ignoring Scarlett, "the express post is as express as ever; but the will of a woman is such that when she tries, she can travel faster than even the lightest piece of paper."

Scarlett blushed up to the roots of her hair. Oh, to be made fun of, when she had come so quickly and so earnestly!

"Rhett, I-" she began, feeling that if she went much longer, she would scream from the injustice of it all, only to be stopped by his warning finger. A light in his eyes warned her not to continue, so she held her tongue.

"Just a minute, my dear, " he said, "I can see that the business you came on is urgent, but all the same, it'll have to wait until tomorrow morning."

"Tomorrow morning!" she cried, startled.

"Yes, you see, I'll be gone until then on important business." he replied, a gleam in his eye.

"Well, I'll...I'll go with you, " she replied, determined not to let him out of her sight.

"Oh, no," he replied, "the place I'm going isn't respectable for such _ladies _as yourself."

Scarlett's jaw went slack as she took in the full meaning of his words.

"You brought that-that- Watling _creature_ here with you?"

He laughed softly. "No, my dear, not Belle. Just another one of my Charleston friends."

When Scarlett looked shocked, he clicked his tongue at her."Scarlett, in this world, there will always be gentlemen. And as long as there are gentlemen, there will always be their whores."

And with that, he slammed the door, leaving Scarlett to listen to the pounding of blood in her ears.

Rhett kept his word; he did not reappear, not for lunch, supper, or the inevitable sewing circle that followed. Every time the door bell rang, Scarlett's heart was in her mouth, hoping against hope to see his strong, muscular figure in the doorway.

Half the women of Charleston had appeared to meet her, and the house was swamped with hoops, powder, and delicate pastries. Luckily, her aunt Eulalie appeared to be ill, and Scarlett escaped the lecture she had been worrying about. The other women, she didn't really know, so none of them could pull her aside for a heart-to-heart chat. Or rather, an angry monologue.

Rosemary watched her intently the whole day, and Scarlett could almost feel her blue eyed gaze on her every time she looked up. It filled her with a distinct annoyance. Didn't that old maid have anything better to do than stare at her like a fox watching a hare?

Scarlett and Rosemary had met only once before, on her wedding to Rhett, and Rose had made an impression on her as strong willed, well mannered, and fiercely protective of her older brother. Now, her reaction to Scarlett confirmed that opinion.

Rosemary, in her turn, had heard her brother speak of his green-eyed, shrewd wife, had seen his defeated look and alcohol consumption when he came to Charleston. Now, under her care, he had finally stopped visiting sporting houses and drinking bottles upon bottles of whiskey every day; but Scarlett's arrival had sent him running back to the houses she had worked so hard to keep him out of. She wished to God that her brother had heeded her advice and never married the woman. Rosemary stood between Rhett and Scarlett with the determination of a lioness, feeling that the delicate woman was here to hurt her brother in ways he could never recover from.

Scarlett retired to her room early, tired of sparring with Rosemary's gaze and with a headache from the jolting train. But in bed, she kept tossing and turning hour after hour.

Oh, why was Rhett so horrible? He hurt her so when she had rushed all this way to find him. Why, she had even left the children with Sue and Will and he- Oh, she was so mad she could scream. The moon glittered off the white sheets, and she noticed just how the shadows played around the room, almost creating the effect of a fog. Or an eerie house on a hill.

She stood up. A brandy would calm her runaway thoughts. Yes, a neat brandy was just the thing.

Five minutes later, she was rewarded with a bottle of amber liquid for her searches, but no glasses. Too tired to search more, she took a cautious swig from the bottle, smiling as the glow spread throughout her body. Scarlett eyed the amber liquid inside. Maybe just a few drops more, for good measure.

Two hours later, she was sitting, feet up, on the antique chair in the parlour. Scarlett giggled softly; half the bottle was gone, and she was feeling very tipsy indeed. Oh, what would Ellen think of her now, her white wrapper hiked up to the thigh and drinking more than Gerald? What would she think of the small girl she had raised to be a lady, kind and benevolent? She dispelled the troubling thought with more brandy.

The door opened softly, and the unmistakable silhouette of Rhett appeared in the doorway. Rhett? What was he doing here? He wasn't supposed to be back till tomorrow morning, and of course, the famous Rhett Butler never went back on his word. Scarlett shook her head. His shadow swayed in front of her.

No, no, it couldn't be. Why, she must have fallen asleep. Yes! She had fallen asleep, and this was all just a dream.

A dream! Her spirits soared. Oh, what fun! She could do whatever she liked!

"Scarlett?" Rhett whispered, "whatever are you doing?"

Unsteadily, she stood up and dropped the bottle slowly, watching it shatter into tiny,tiny pieces on the wooden floor. She looked back at him, green eyes glittering, a maniacal smile on her face.

"My dear, just how drunk are you?"

She laughed, a high pitched giggle that made Rhett wince, and put her arms around his strong shoulders.

"You're a scoundrel, Rhett Butler. A scoundrel of the worst kind, and what's more, you know it."

She tossed her head defiantly and leaned close to him."I wish I could cast you off, be a man so I could shoot you, hurt you like you hurt me. But I can't. Do you know why?" She paused a minute before whispering softly into his ear. "Because I love you."

"Do you know I did call to you, Rhett Butler? I called to you when I was sick. I called to you when I was crying. Did you listen? Did you understand? You forgot about me, Rhett Butler." She said the word s with a certain melancholy. "You forgot about me after Bonnie was born."

Rhett jerked back as if physically wounded.

"Scarlett, you-you don't know what you're saying. You're out of my mind, go to bed."

She laughed again. "Why? So you can leave me to the nightmares?"

An expression of pain crossed his face and he lifted her up, one hand on her knees, one on her back. She swung back and forth in his arms, and once almost hit his cheek. Suddenly, she got an idea, and smiled, noticed immediately by Rhett.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "What are you smiling at, you green-eyed-"

Abruptly he was cut off as Scarlett kissed him on the cheek, laughing again in a delighted, childish manner. Rhett caught his breath and dumped her on her bed with more force than necessary. She was so beautiful right now, and he only wanted to leave, mind absolutely muddled.

"Damn you, Scarlett," he said softly, turning quickly. He almost tripped as something caught him from behind and pulled him back onto the bed.

"No!" commanded Scarlett, "Stay!"

And before he could so much as reply, she had one arm on his chest and her head against his arm, eyes closed.

He would not leave this room, Scarlett thought, she would not let her dream Rhett go. It was such a nice dream, for once. Before she closed her eyes, she had one last vision of him staring at her, black eyes wide, filled with conflict.

Rhett waited for the dawn to arrive, wife in the crook of his arm, wondering just what the hell he was going to do.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter****4**

When Scarlett opened her eyes, her head pounded and rebelled against the sharp morning light. Moaning, she turned her face to the side and squeezed her eyes shut. Her mouth was so dry that swallowing was impossible, so she couldn't do anything about the acrid taste in her mouth. Scarlett attempted to gather her tattered thoughts.

There had been a dream- she remembered with a muddled mind, something about bottles, and being very, very drunk, and Rhett carrying her to her room. But then- she blushed as she remembered what she had told him.

Scarlett frowned. She didn't usually remember her dreams so well, why, the only dream she really ever remembered was the nightmare with the fog. But this one was unusually clear.

The door opened and her husband came in, holding a glass of water in his hand, face puffy from drink and an unfamiliar expression on his face. Aside from his features, he looked as immaculate as ever with polished shoes and a buttoned white shirt. But for all his jaunty clothes there was a weariness about him, a sense of defeat that Scarlett couldn't understand.

"Why," Scarlett thought to herself, "if I didn't know better, I would have thought he looked almost uncomfortable. But, of course, Rhett is never uncomfortable, so why-"

"I thought you might need this," he said, clearing his throat, "after last night."

She squinted uncertainly at him as she gulped the water. Last night she had gone to sleep and had that strange dream. But as she drank, her head began to clear.

"You needn't worry about the broken bottle, Betsy has cleaned it up. The other members of this house will attribute it to me, no doubt." He attempted to smile. "It's not the first time alcohol has spilled in this house."

Scarlett gaped up at him. Broken bottles? The blood rushed out of her face, leaving her deathly pale, as she finally realized that last night she hadn' t been dreaming. And so, here she blushed up to the roots of her hair, she had compromised herself horribly, declared her love for a man that didn't return it, yet again. She remembered that Ashley had begged her to stop when she declared her love for him, saying that she'd hate herself for the things she said later. She had, her hatred had caused her to marry Charles. Now, again, she felt the same utter hatred of Rhett, that he should have heard everything she said, understood everything she felt, and felt nothing in return. Oh, she could never hold her head up after this, she thought wretchedly, how he must be laughing at her foolishness!

But Rhett's face was devoid of all mockery, only somber. His black eyes stared at her with concern and a flicker of pity. His pity, however, served as a taunt to Scarlett's pride, a stimulant to her anger, boiling already from embarrassment. Her chin went up and her eyes went again, she vowed, never again.

Rhett went on, studying her face carefully. "I wanted to tell you something. I'm leaving, Scarlett, leaving just as soon as I can pack my bags."

Silence followed his statement, and Scarlett attempted to swallow around the lump that had formed in her throat. He was welcome to go, her temper railed at her, she cared nothing about him anymore! But her heart panged when she thought of him leaving again, even as she tried to bottle her emotions up. But, she had to admit, if he left, she would be alone with Rosemary and her deathly stares, inevitable sewing parties, and bland dresses. And if she stayed any longer, she would go mad with shame.

"You needn't go," she said to him, her voice high and clear, "I'll be leaving myself in half an hour. You needn't cut your holiday short because of me."

Rhett merely nodded, his eyes expressionless, and opened the door. Somewhere in her confused mind, Scarlett wondered if he had planned this all along.

It was still early when Scarlet walked into the dining room thirty minutes later, the rest of the house asleep or dressing. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, and Rhett sat at the table alone, quietly reading the paper, a daguerreotype of Bonnie by his side. Somewhere outside, the whippoorwill called, and a light wind blew into the house. Rhett's white shirt had been unbuttoned because of the hot day, and the sunlight glinted off his black hair and shone onto his face and chest, making his skin glow; for a moment, the dashing blockader of her youth had returned. With a pang, Scarlett realized how much she longed to be beside him, to have the right to sit next to him and talk about the old days, the mills, anything. Anything that would brink back the look in his eyes when he talked to her, the eager cat and mouse look which she missed more than her dead child.

This thought troubled her a bit, it wasn't proper to miss Rhett more than Bonnie, was it? Especially when Rhett sat in front of her, and Bonnie was buried in Atlanta. Why, Rhett cared about Bonnie more than anything in the world. Here, Scarlett's wounded pride returned. He didn't miss her at all, didn't care that she was leaving.

Suddenly, she couldn't stand being silent anymore, watching Rhett's pain when none of it was for her. Why, he was living in a different world, too distracted to realize what he had! Rhett, she realized with shock and anger, was turning into Ashley.

"Bonnie's dead, Rhett," she said, voice shaking, "she fell off the horse and broke her neck. And if you cared so much about her, you wouldn't lie drunk every night with Belle and her girls. Maybe you would try to change, but you don't. Maybe you would stay true to her memory, if you really loved her, instead of disgracing it! Maybe you shouldn't forget that others cared for her as well, and that you still have something to live for, as they do!"

"Rhett," she said to him, voice breaking, "you once told me you were sorry for me, now I'm sorry for you. Drinking like a fish, staying nights upon nights with illiterate whores when I'm alive, right here. Yes, I'm sorry for you because you should be dead, you want to be dead and you're killing yourself, turning into...into Ashley Wilkes! No, worse! "

"That's enough." a voice came from behind her.

Scarlett spun around; Rosemary stood at the head of the table, hair awry and eyes blazing.

"You've said enough. Cruel Scarlett, throwing salt into others wounds to cleanse your own." she said, spitting out every word with infinite hatred. "If God had any justice, you would be lying in the ground instead of that darling girl, who cared about Rhett infinitely more than you do."

Scarlett gaped open mouthed at this frank insult.

"And how exactly would you know how much I care about Rhett?" she managed to ask, "Have you ever had a husband?"

"You've had three," Rosemary spat at her, walking over to Rhett's seat and placing her hands on his chair, "Two died. My brother won't be going the same way." With a shock, Scarlett realized Rhett had thrown his head into his hand, utterly oblivious to all that went on around him.

Rosemary smiled grimly at her. "The door, Mrs. Butler."

"I was already leaving," snapped Scarlett.

"You needn't come back, either," said Rosemary with malicious pleasure, " if you do, I'll inform the whole town about this incident. Thanks to my father's good reputation, a woman who isn't received in the Butler household won't be received by all of Charleston."

For once, Scarlett was absolutely speechless. Rosemary opened the door for her.

"Your train will be here soon, Mrs. Butler. Goodbye."

Once Scarlett was gone, Rhett raised his head up again. Rosemary was by him in an instant.

"Brother, what's wrong?" she asked softly, all signs of anger gone from her face. She gently squeezed his hand.

"Nothing, nothing, Rosemary." He replied, a hard light in his eyes. "Perhaps I have realized the truth in what she said. Me and Ashley would have thought?"

"There was no truth in what she said!" Rosemary exclaimed, shocked. "And I hate that woman, I hate her with all my heart for what she's done to you!"

"I hate her too," said Rhett, softly, "I hate her because I can't stay away from her. She's like laundanum, Rose. Scarlett lures you in and destroys you, and you're so happy you can't tell, don't care when she hurts you."

Rosemary was silent a moment. She hated Scarlett, but she wanted her brother to be happy. And here, in Charleston, he seemed to be a stranger, angry and lost. He was drinking less, but she saw none of her brother's former spirit, none of his jeering comments or sense of humor, only disinterest.

"Brother, why must you stay away from her?"

"Name of God!" he exclaimed, jumping up. "You think I want to go back? To Scarlett? Who didn't care at all about my Bonnie, who went chasing Ashley Wilkes while her daughter was having nightmares every night? Rose, I try with all my mind to stay away from that woman, because she can't understand. Every step I take closer to her is a step I take away from Bonnie. And, I swear, I won't let her go."

Rosemary took a step back, wondering with fear if there was some truth in Scarlett's words, if Rhett were really killing himself. His words echoed in her mind.

_"I won't let her go."_

Then how, she wondered desperately, was he supposed to get better?

All the train ride to Tara, Scarlett seethed with anger and a broken pride.

How dare that two-penny lady tell her, Scarlett O'Hara Butler, to get out of her house? And after all those years when Rosemary had lived on her charity! Well, Aunt 'Lalie's charity, but her's after all. Who did she think she was? And Rhett- he had stooped so low that he wouldn't care if his own wife was insulted. What a wonderful husband.

Perhaps, she didn't need him anyways. She'd never throw herself at him like that again. Why. as far as she cared, he continue on just as he was. Rhett's body was his own, the country was free, and she, Scarlett O'Hara, wasn't his mother. The scenery flew by her, green and luscious, but Scarlett was too lost in her thoughts to notice the beauty. She'd never think of him again, she swore to herself, not once.

In the months to come, however, Scarlett often wondered about him whether she wanted to or not , first at Tara and then at Atlanta.

"I don't care in the least about him," she told herself, over and over. But, oh, hadn't it been enough time yet? Shouldn't he come home for one of his promised visits? But as the days grew shorter and still no word came, she couldn't waste time wondering with all the work to be done.

And with another child the work had indeed doubled. Beau was her's now, sharing a room with Wade and lessons with the other children. He only stayed with his father a few nights a week, after supper at the mansion. Beau always came back from these visits, pale, troubled, and looking mature beyond his years. He clung to Scarlett's hand the day afterward, and she understood that the little boy couldn't handle such sadness in a home that used to overflow with joy.

Ashley was in no condition to keep him. The boy took more care of his father than the other way around, with both the patience of Melanie and the relentless strength of Scarlett. All the matrons smiled, half sadly, to see the two walking down the street, Beau holding his father's hand and talking cheerfully while the older man seemingly listened or asked questions. No one smiled, however, when they saw Scarlett in a buggy with the boy, visiting the mills. They all agreed that she was a horrible influence on Beau, and it was Melly's undying faith that led her to give him to Scarlett, not common sense. But, dislike it as they might, they grudgingly had to admit that Beau seemed to be growing happier in her care, adjusting cheerfully to his new home with "Auntie Scarlett".

But the public hostility to Scarlett had started to dwindle in the last few months, as she began attending sewing circles and democratic gatherings again. Not alone, but with Beau, Wade, and Ella in tow, actively engaging in discussion. The death of Melanie had cracked the majority of the resistance to Scarlett, as she had been closer to Melly than any other but Ashley. None in Atlanta ever attempted to talk to Ashley about Melly, however, as he broke down so pitifully at Mrs. Merriweather's reminisces that Dr. Meade had to be called. So, it was with Scarlett that they remembered the old days: the Atlanta Bazaar, the Lady Harpist's meetings. Now that Melly was gone, they trusted her judgement more than ever, and were kind to Scarlett for her sake. Enough so, at least, that when Scarlett invited them to dinner, no one felt the undying need to refuse.  
>"For Melly's sake," was what they all said as they invited Scarlett to dinner or to a party, the undying rally that eventually broke down the barriers that seperated Scarlett from her townspeople. Scarlett smiled sadly, realizing that she was once again in Melly's debt, and now she'd never be able to repay it. At least Beau, Wade, and Ella would be accepted more by society. And Beau would have many customers when he took over the mill.<p>

Beau, thought Scarlett, a boy that could be as smart as her. Wade was too much of a gentleman to be shrewd in business; his simplicity was inherited from his father, simplicity that Scarlett often mistook for weakness. Wade, Beau, and Ella had a governess, but Wade often busied himself with poetry and history. Beau preferred math and could calculate figures almost as well as Scarlett.

And Ella? Scarlett's heart ached when she thought of her daughter. Her hair had darkened and complexion improved since her baby years, but her mind was still no good for had immense trouble with reading and counting, unable to keep her attention on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. She followed her brother around everywhere, smiling at everything and wanting to be like him, but with little success. Ella would make a good wife, and nothing else, thought Scarlett morosely.

Wade and Ella missed Uncle Rhett and Aunt Melly, finding it hard to believe they would never receive a kiss or hug from her again. Mother was trying to be nice now, but it bewildered them so that they liked it better when she was gone. It seemed Beau was the only one that could talk to her these days without fear, while they both cowered behind him, thinking they would be slapped. Wade didn't mind her obvious favoritism,though, as long as she didn't yell.

And so the days passed, Scarlett busy advising Ashley about the mills or running them when he took a sick day. The mills didn't make much profit now, but when she tried to tell Ashley this, she always got the same response.

"It's all right, Scarlett." he would reply weakly, "I don't need much money anyways."

"But Ashley," Scarlett would argue, but eventually she gave it up as a lost cause. Now, she only shook her head and clicked her tongue when she saw the account books, trying not to think of how much profit they had shown recently.

Christmas was coming now; the children decorated the house and Prissy baked pies. Scarlett's heart jumped whenever the door opened, but usually it was just some caller, or Ashley. Once, a letter came, but Scarlett was so disappointed at the lack of Rhett that she threw it on the ground and started to cry in front of the confused postman.

Christmas Eve arrived; dinner was ready, and the guests had arrived bringing presents for the children. Finally, Scarlett gave up on her hope after tripping on a letter in her haste to answer the door.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" she exclaimed irritably to the guests who had gathered around her, "I just tripped over that letter, that's all."

She stood up, more angry at herself than others, and picked up the letter. Her eyes went wide and she slit it open, moving to the library and locking the door behind her.

"Dear Mrs. Butler,

The United States Federal government asks for your presence on the twenty first of June, to respond to allegations of aiding former Confederates against the law. According to the rules and regulations, your property may be confiscated or a fine incurred due to these accusations. This letter has also been sent to Mr. Ashley Wilkes, with the same possible consequences.

Sincerely,

Mr. Delaware"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Scarlett squirmed in her seat, trying to pay attention to Dr. Meade's lengthy Christmas speech, but wishing all the while that the old goat would eat quickly and leave. The letter weighed on her mind, frightening her more than she cared to admit. All her land; the mansion, her house, Ashley's mills, Tara, she could lose it all! She didn't care about the mansion much, but,oh, she couldn't let her plantation go. And somehow, Scarlett couldn't shake the feeling that the Yankee government wanted just that.

"Scarlett," murmured Kitty Bonnell, placing a gentle hand on her arm, "It was so lovely of you to invite us to dinner, and prepare so much food when times are so hard. You're so kind, my dear."

Scarlett stared at her, managing a smile with difficulty. What a fool Kitty Bonnell was! She looked across the room full of members of the Old Guard. What fools they all were! Nothing could change their mannerisms, even when life had changed beyond recognition. They wouldn't leave their ways for survival, wouldn't dream of doing what Scarlett was planning to. Scarlett frowned. She had worked so hard to make this group of friends, and now she would have to let it all go. But the thought of the red land and white house she was saving made it all bearable.

She started calculating what had to be done. Only the other day she had thrown the Yankees she played bridge with onto the street, cards and all, when they came to visit. They would have to be placated. Any correspondence with Governor Bullock had been rudely cut off, and now, Scarlett thought emotionlessly, it would take all of her considerable charms to renew it. There were ladies to be invited to tea, crushes to plan, and, if worst came to worst, soldiers to be flirted with.

She thought for a second that Ellen would have wept if she had seen the social atrocities Scarlett was planning to commit, but she brushed the thought aside. After all, Ellen wouldn't have wanted her home taken from her either. Her roast chicken sat in front of her, untouched, and she picked at it with her fork. If only Rhett was here! He would know what to do.

The ladies chattered happily and the men discussed politics as they finished their dinners. One by one, they began to leave, checking their watches regretfully and paying their respects to the tense Scarlett. Mrs. Meade and Merriweather grumbled on their way out that her manners had been poor, but the hearty five course meal and exquisite gifts she provided for all the ladies wiped away much of their complaints. They were pleased, if not with their hostess, then with her flawless planning and gifts.

Soon, only Ashley remained at the dinner table, looking at her with more intensity than Scarlett had seen for weeks. He had been talking more today, timidly answering Mrs. Elsing's questions and once even laughing. Ashley had even noticed, for the first time in a month, that Scarlett looked unhappy.

"Scarlett," he asked softly, "what's wrong?"

He smiled wistfully when she didn't reply. "You always seem so lost these days, my dear. The fire in your spirit is fading. Where is the bullheaded girl I once knew?"

Scarlett was still distracted, but her eyes filled with tears at the irony of this statement. A feeling of pity engulfed her, so strong that it swas surprising. Why, she hadn't felt so bad since Melly died. Why was she so sad now?

"I- I'm lost, Ashley?" she managed to ask. "Oh, Ashley, it's you who aren't the same, not me. "

Ashley smiled to himself. Perhaps Scarlett was right, perhaps he was living in his dreams. But in his dreams, he was whole and young and free again, with Melanie beside him. In his dreams, he was happy; it was only when the time came to wake up that pain would shake him. Reality. Reality was death, Reality was a letter from the government, Reality was charity and poverty and the honor which made him return from his happy dreams.

Honor! Over the past month, anger had begun to fill Ashley's mind, slowly and irrevocably, against the principles he had lived by that never bore fruit. He had lost his wife; honor made it worse. He was still living because honor demanded it. And honor, honor had kept his want for Scarlett under control, because he was a gentleman and had to be faithful to his wife. But he had no wife anymore, he moaned, she was gone. And, and Melly wouldn't mind if he found happiness in Scarlett, would she? He looked at Scarlett, green eyes glistening, black hair tumbled on her white skin, and decided that it didn't matter. He was done with honor.

"Scarlett, everything has changed, " he said, giving voice to his thoughts, "what is the point in living anymore? You and I, we don't have anything."

Scarlett opened her mouth to retort, but Ashley walked slowly toward her, desperation creeping into his tone.

"Scarlett, Scarlett, you still love me, don't you?" His frenzied mind held onto the only thing which he felt had not changed. Scarlett loved him, he wanted her. Damn the world.

"Dear, you still love me. That hasn't changed, has it?" He kept on repeating it, over and over, until Scarlett wanted to cover her ears and run away screaming. He grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked her up from the chair with rough hands. She cried out.

"Ashley, let go of me! You're hurting me!"

"Say it, Scarlett," he whispered, shaking her, "Say it."

Scarlett gazed wordlessly into his face. Once, she would have said it in a heartbeat. Now, looking into his blue eyes, all she felt was revulsion, and something else.

"Why, I'm afraid," Scarlett thought incredulously, "Afraid of Ashley!"

The realization shocked her. Afraid of Ashley? Ashley, who she had played with as a child, flirted with as a young girl, who was too much of a gentleman to do anything to her, anyways! Why on earth was she afraid of him?

"Ashley," she said, voice clear, "Let go of me. You don't know what you're doing. Why, you're widowed, with Beau, and, and- what would Melanie think? Let me go!"

Ashley stepped back for a moment, caught in the authority of her voice, perhaps thinking of his dead wife.

"Now!" thought Scarlett, and tried to yank out of his grip, but he pushed her against the wall roughly, all sense of logic gone from his face.

"You're so beautiful, Scarlett." He fingered her hair softly, speaking throatilyy, "So beautiful when you're angry. I don't care anymore, " he seemed to be speaking to himself now, "I don't care."

Scarlett screamed as she realized what he was going to do next, but suddenly she was on the floor, kicking and clawing and screaming madly, and Ashley was holding onto her with a vicelike grip. She felt his weight on top of her, and she tried to scream through the hand he had placed over her ! He was too strong! He was stifling her, she couldn't move her mouth, only make muffled noises as she struggled, first to break free, then to breathe.

His hands were roaming all over her, disgusting hands, hands that hurt with nails like teeth. His lips were on her, and Scarlett fought him furiously, fought until she felt something under her skirt and her vision went dark.

Dimly she lay there, still struggling against him weakly. Scarlett felt like she was swimming throught water, and she realized with a shock that she was suffocating. Ashley was still over her. In slow motion she heard the cloth of her dress tear, and she stopped moving.

"No!" thought Scarlett, fighting slowly to keep her eyes open, "I can't...can't die just yet. There was something...something..."

But her eyelids were so droopy now, and the darkness was so comfortable. She saw a face in the darkness, dark hair, sparkling eyes. Rhett. And then Tara. Rhett, Tara, Rhett, Tara, they alternated and her eyes drooped more and more.

_ S_he heard a bang through the darkness, a mix of voices quickly fading into nothing. What was it? Wondering, Scarlett closed her eyes.

**Author's Note: I could not resist that cliffhanger. Sorry this took so long, guys, I was on vacation for a week and it took me a while to write this. It was difficult, the end especially. Ashley finally cracked. If you don't get that yet, I'll explain it more in the next chapter. For all who didn't know, Scarlett is in ATLANTA. Yes, after spending 2 weeks in Tara. **

**SO CLOSE TO 20 REVIEWS NOW. All the reviewers from this chapter, if Ffnet users, will get 2 reviews from me on any one of their stories. PM me if you want me to check out one in particular. If you're not a FF account holder, you get my everlasting gratitude. Once again, Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 6

Ashley moved his hand from Scarlett's mouth and peered down curiously at her. She had stopped moving after a sudden after a fight that had left red claw marks on his arm and bite marks on his hand. He wasn't expecting much more from Scarlett; in fact, it was her stillness that had taken him by surprise. For a moment, he had allowed himself to believe that she had realized that there was no use fighting when she loved him, but now he noted that her eyes were closed. So she had fainted then, he thought, slightly disappointed, but mostly relieved. He wouldn't rouse her for a few minutes, he decided.

Poor thing. She had lived so long with Rhett that she had forgotten about their love, he told himself, she had forgotten about that day in the orchard. Scarlett, Scarlett just kept on fighting, not knowing that life was too short to worry about marraiges and bonds of society. Once he had worried, but not anymore, he told himself, unaware that he was throwing away the qualities which had defined his character, made him loved to all who knew him.

Ashley stared down at Scarlett's body. She was laying so strangely on the ground, as if all the life had suddenly left her body. Ashley had seen Ms. Pittypat faint all the time, and his wife, but Scarlett looked more lifeless than they ever had. Something was odd about her body; he didn't quite know what it was. He tried to cover up the uneasiness in his mind. Why, of course Scarlet had fainted! But, just to be sure, he held his finger below her nose, expecting to feel the gentle puff of air that meant she was still breathing. It was just a silly thought, Ashley told himself, of course Scarlett was-

There was no air on his finger. He pushed his finger closer until it was right under her nose, but the ice-cold temperature of her skin told him what his eyes could not.

"By God," he whispered hoarsely, "I've killed Scarlett!"

He'd killed her. Ashley's mind was numb, he couldn't feel anything. Something in his mind refused to acknowledge it. Scarlett couldn't be dead... she couldn't be. And most of all, he couldn't have killed her. But he knew he had; he had stolen her life with his insane lust. His remorse lifted the veil sadness had built in front of his eyesight, and for the first time since Melanie died, he saw clearly. Scarlett hadn't loved him. Why, she had never loved him; she had died fighting to get away from his attentions. That love had changed too, and because he couldn't bear it , he had forced himself apon her. Why, he had-

Suddenly, to complete his misery, the door slammed open and someone stepped inside. Ashley looked up into the head of a pistol held by Rhett Butler, a raw, murderous look on his face which made him shiver.

"Mr. Wilkes," Rhett growled, "get your filthy hands off my wife."

Rhett quickly accessed the room, never moving the pointing pistol. The dining room was dimly lit; unchanged since he had last been here, but looking like an absolute mess. Plates were broken on the floor, chairs had fallen and splintered, and above all, torn cloth adorned the room like confetti. In the middle of it all sat Ashley Wilkes, looking at him with the face of a dead man. Something white extended from the mess of petticoats and muslin on the floor, and Rhett inched forward. Was that Scarlett? Why wasn't she-

Nothing could brace Rhett for the sight of her white body, cold and splayed on the remnants of her clothing.

As if in a dream, Rhett pushed Ashley onto the ground, heard the thud of his body as he hit the tile floor. Later, he dimly remembered cradling Scarlett' head in his lap, desperately trying to blow the breath back into her, pounding her chest. "Not Scarlett," his mind shouted over and over again, "Anyone but her!" He kept pounding her chest, but as the seconds passed, despair started to fill his head. Finally, he aknowledged that he had done all he could. If Scarlett was still alive, she would start to breathe soon. If she was still alive...

It seemed like an eternity before Scarlett's throat rose and she took a long, shuddering breath. First one, and then another as she began to stir. Rhett sat back weakly, relief filling his mind and making him giddy.

"She's alive." whispered Ashley hoarsely. He looked up at Rhett, and the two shared a glance filled with relief and common emotion. Then Rhett remembered what Ashley had done, and he got up stiffly, walking towards the brandy cabinet.

"Get out." he said precisely, and heard Ashley's stumbling gait and the door slamming behind him. Sighing, Rhett poured a small measure of brandy into a glass and swallowed it in one gulp, too tired even for anger now. Ashley had always lusted after his wife, he knew that, but why had he suddenly given in to it? Looking around the wrecked dining room, He wondered just what had occurred there a scant few minutes ago to cause so much wreckage.

In the corner,Scarlett stirred and murmured weakly, interrupting his thoughts. He was by her side in an instant, watching her anxiously. Scarlett was his first priority right now, and when she woke, all his questions would be answered.

When Scarlett opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Rhett, looking down at her with an unconcerned expression on his face.

She almost fainted again.

"Whoah, Scarlett!" She heard him exclaim, holding up her limp body. He forced her mouth open and poured a hot liquid down her throat; brandy, she thought dimly,. The warmth spread itself to her limbs, leaving her tingling from head to toe. Slowly, she found the strength to sit up on her own, and Rhett cautiously removed his hands from her shoulders.

Scarlett looked around; Ashley was gone, she noticed thankfully. Someone had also swept up her torn petticoats and her dress into a neat pile on the floor. Scarlett stared with a quivering lip at what was left of her fine gown, a few torn scraps of red and gold cloth. How much it had cost! And how beautiful it was before-before...

A cold December wind gushed through the open window, blowing out the festive candles she had arranged earlier in the evening, and Scarlett shivered. She wasn't wearing anything at all but a thin blanket someone had thought to drape over her. Could Rhett had done it? She looked at him curiously; the last time she saw him, he would have been uncapable of such kindness.

"I was riding by on my horse," he said, answering her thoughts rather than her words, " on my way to the hotel when I heard your screams, clear actoss the street. When I came in, you were, shall we say, in your natural state and looking closer to God than anyone would care to be. It's a miracle you survived." Rhett chuckled to himself, " The Irish are made out of some mettle."

"Well, I owe him my life," thought Scarlett emotionlessly. She knew she ought to feel gratitude, or anger at Ashley, or something. But at the moment, Scarlett only felt cold. Meeting her eyes, Rhett threw her wrapper at her.

"Here, put this on before you die of cold." he chuckled again, " I would hate to see my efforts go to vain."

Scarlett couldn't help smiling at him as she took the wrapper. He could make her angrier than any man she knew, but how nice he could be at times like these! A fire blazed in the grate, and she warmed her cold feet gratefully near it. Rhett just sat there staring at her, an unscrutable look in his black eyes.

"Rhett, what are you thinking about?" she questioned at last, when the fire had started to die out and he still hadn't moved.

"Come here," he beckoned to the armchair by his right. She didn't feel like arguing, not when he was in such a good mood. Once she sat there, he turned her face to his, and Scarlett's heart started to beat faster. What was he going to do? She gave him her most enchanting smile and beat her eyelashes against her cheek, knowing very well how it made her dimple show and her eyes sparkle in the firelight.

"Scarlett," Rhett tilted her face up so that her eyes met his. Scarlett laughed softly, expecting a declaration of love, or, at the very least, a kiss.

"Listen to me. Ashley Wilkes is never to enter this house again, you hear? I don't want you to be alone with him. He's dangerous, Scarlett."

Scarlett had such a hard time bottling up her disappointment that she hardly heard what he said. She sat there, gaping at him, until the words finally sunk in. Ashley banned from the house! For a moment she forgot what had just occurred, her mind frenzied with the thought of the letter, and how she would need Ashley's help if she was ever going to prove her innocence. Why, Ashley would have to testify too! And God knew, if Ashley's testimony was in any way different from hers, the whole case would collapse about her ears. How was she to convince him and develop a story if she couldn't talk to him?

Looking at Rhett, though, she shied away from telling him about the trial. She didn't know why, it just seemed as if he wouldn't understand, or telling him now would bring back the stranger she had known in the last days he'd been in Atlanta.

"I'll tell him, " she assured herself guiltily, "just..well, later." She switched tactics.

"Why, Rhett, you know I couldn't do that! If Ashley's not allowed in the house, then poor Beau won't be able to see his father unless I was having a party and- oh, you don't know what that'd to do the poor boy!"

Rhett gave her a sharp look. "Now when exactly did you start caring about Beau, or any of your children for that matter?"

Scarlett wanted to bite off her tongue. She hadn't told him about Beau for fear of how he'd take it. He might understand, for, after all, Beau was Melly's son too, but on the other hand, he probably would take the whole thing the wrong way and get angry. Or worse, the news could bring back the cold stranger she had known in the last days of her marriage. She never could understand him, Scarlett thought helplessly. But he grabbed her by the chin again.

"Tell me!" he ordered, in a tone that demanded no argument.

"Well... you see, Rhett, Melly gave him to me after she died, and so the poor boy's been staying here with the other children, just like one of the family. Everyone in Atlanta agreed it was for the best" She looked at him anxiously, bracing herself for anger, mocking, anything. But to her absolute surprise, Rhett threw back his head and dissolved into hearty laughter.

"I don't see what's so funny about it, " she said indignantly, after a minute passed and he hadn't stopped. "Just because you don't do anything nice for anyone."

" My dear, I beg to differ. Why, did you ever think, Scarlett, about the havoc your well-meaning actions have caused to the delicate mind of Mr. Wilkes?"

" You think I'm responsible for what happened tonight?" Scarlett seethed with anger at the very suggestion. How dare he!

"Sooth your ruffled feathers, I never said that. Not directly, in any case. But, tell me, what do you think your taking Beau did to Ashley's pride? A gentleman from birth, raised in the lap of luxury, sunk so low that he can't keep his own child. Damn, I'd kill myself a hundred times over before I let myself sink that low. Or any of mine, for that matter."

"I don't see what that's got to do with anything," said Scarlett, still nettled.

"Then, my dear, I'll put it so simply so that even you could understand it. Ashley found himself with nothing; he had lost his wife to death, Beau to you, and too soft to make any good money. So, he blamed it on something that was lacking in himself, or rather, something that he had that kept him under its bonds. All he had to do was look around him; the people without it were living in mansions, drinking fine wine every night and living a life of such glutted happiness that your lifestyle looked like that of a peasant's. The people with this quality lived in tiny hovels at the end of town, baking pies for a living.

"Honor, Scarlett, honor. Honor gives no happiness, no comfort in the face of death and wants. Ashley, for one, blamed it for all his woes, identified it as the reason he wasn't happy in life. So what did he do? Your Mr. Wilkes set out to break the code, and the worst thing he could do was to give into the lust that he had held for so long, go after a woman that he thought loved him. Miserable wretch.

Rhett's eyes twinkled, igniting Scarlett's anger like a match.

"I daresay your near-death experience has brought him to his senses, though."

" You talk in such a calm way, Rhett, why, I don't think you care at all about what I'd been through," said Scarlett testily.

"If I didn't care, I wouldn't have saved you, would I?" asked Rhett.

"If you cared you would have killed Ashley tonight!" Scarlett cried, " Or, or at least hurt him in some way but- you let him go! Why-"

"I thought you didn't believe he was dangerous, you seemed so willing to let him inside the house," noted Rhett innocently. Scarlett seethed inside. Oh, he thought he was so clever, using her own words against her.

"You're nothing but a filthy hypocrite," she shrieked angrily, "Coward! I never thought I'd call you one, but I'm not afraid to now-"

"Spare me your illogical insults, my dear," said Rhett calmly, " if I killed Ashley the police would be all over it, and then the news would be out in the town. Do you really think that our good Atlanta citizens would believe mild mannered Mr. Wilkes could even attempt something like this? Hell no!"

"But he did!" she cried, "he did and you didn't do anything!"

"When I came into this room Ashley Wilkes was sitting, fully clothed by your body, staring in horror at you like the ninny he is. I very much doubt he took advantage of you."

" So you're saying he didn't do anything?" Scarlett said in disbelief.

" No, Scarlett, he tore off your clothes, suffocated you, and was almost going to take you before he realized you wre dead, " Rhett sounded weary all of a sudden, " I can kill him if it makes you happy, to be looked at as the wanton of the town, who brought about her own undoing. If you want Beau to be an outcast for life, I can twist his arms off. Scarlett, I thought you, of all people, would know that life is worse than dying peacefully. If you want to punish him, do nothing."

He turned away from her. "Now, Scarlett, go to bed. It's late and you're tired,"

She knew their was truth in Rhett's words, hated him the more for being right, for not having to hold him back from killing Ashley. With fury, she seized onto his last words.

"Who are you to tell me when to go to bed? I'm not a child!"

Rhett looked at her with interest.

"Really?"

Screeching madly, she flew at him, fists flying, as useless as if she was hitting an elephant. Rhett soon had her arms pinioned by her side.

"Scarlett! Scarlett! Stop it! Are you mad? You can't do this, not so soon after fighting Ashley! Stop!" He had her sitting on his lap, still struggling and sobbing with fury.

"Stop," he whispered in her ear, " Scarlett, you're too tired."

Scarlett knew he was right; her anger was giving way to a bone deep weariness. She didn't want to fight anymore, just wanted to be a child again, back at Tara with Ellen, away from all the madness that faced her. Tears filled her eyes, and for some reason she was crying, sobbing and muttering things which made no sense whatsoever, about Tara and Gerald and Melanie.

Rhett said nothing, just held her in his arms and murmured soothing words to her. J

"There, there, my brave girl, you've been through a lot today. I'll be staying here tonight. Don't cry."

In time, her sobs ceased to a sleepy silence. Only one thought registered in her tired mind; he was staying tonight.

" Scarlett, go upstairs and get in bed. I need to get my things from outside." Nodding, she stood up and walked to the stairs, smiling, all anger replaced with a weariness that she could feel when she watched her as she went up, noting the way she stumbled, so much like a child.

He sighed. Coming back to Atlanta for Christmas, he hadn't expected this, not at all. It was too impossible to be angry at Scarlett when she was so vulnerable. Opening the front door, he stood looking out into the peaceful night. The stars shone silver in the midnight blue fabric of the sky; a light wind blew, rustling the leafless branches of the trees. Just one night in this house wouldn't hurt him, he decided. Just one night.

**A/N: Hi guys! I decided to slow things down a bit in this chapter... working on the pace of my plot. You needn't worry; I'm not jam-packing a lot of events into the next chapter, just working a bit on character development. **

** A BIG THANKS TO: Sam, for writing my 20****th**** review! The day you wrote it, I got back to work on this chapter. And, of course, for my most diligent reviewer, ScarlettLovesRhett, and the ever kind Blaquecat13. Also to SaraGWTW, for being the first reviewer on this chapter, hopefully this chapter made the last one clearer.**

** To Aux..., your review really made me reevaluate my writing and be critical on myself. Thanks for your honesty, and if this chapter is better, a lot of it is thanks to you. Also to Melody-Rose, Lillian Classic, and EVERYONE ELSE. **

** Long A/N, eh?**


	8. Author's note

**Extended Author's Note: My plans going forward**

** Hi guys! So, a lot of you have been reading, and reviewing, and that's great. You've given me a lot of valuable suggestions I wouldn't have thought of on my own, especially in the first story I've ever come even remotely close to finishing. That being said, you've raised issues about the speed of the plot, and the historical details(Which I've gotten figured out :)) I thank you for that. **

** It's not that I hate my writing or anything- I think it's good, but it doesnt' match up to the standard in my head. Frankly **_**I think it could be a lot better.**_

__**I don't want to treat my work just as some fanfic- I'm really going for something that fits well with GWTW, keeps the characters, and emotionally moves you. If I just forge ahead and write a Ch 7 and then a 8, it won't be the same, or up to the standard I want it to be. **

** That being said, here's the kind of stuff that's going to happen in the future:**

**A few chapters BEFORE CHAPTER 1:**

**Such as Melanie's funeral**

**Few chapters about the stay at Tara**

**Character insights**

**What is Rhett's mindset at the beginning of the chapter?**

**What do all these events mean for the character?**

**Slowing stuff down**

**E.G: More description, more history**

** Also, most importantly, I'M NOT GOING TO RUSH THE CHAPTERS. Because then, no matter how hard I try, they don't turn out as good. I need to edit them at least 3 times over to get them remotely close to where I want them to be.**

** So what does this mean for you?**

**If you want to stick with me...**

**You'll get a much better experience**

**Be helping a writer to improve**

**Be moved by the plot and how the characters develop from the beginning, which you'll have a much better understanding of**

**If you don't particularly care about detail...**

**There WILL be a chapter 7 and 8 and what not, but it'll take a bit more time**

** I wouldn't ask you guys to reread the whole thing all over again, but if you're bored on a rainy day, or you feel like you want some more of Scarlett and Rhett, it'll always be there for you to enjoy.**

** Thank you so much, and I would love to hear what you think about this idea.**

** Humbly,**

** The Evil Genius**


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